


The Littlest U.N.C.L.E Agent Part 2 How Illya Kuryakin Comes of Age Part 2 Chapter 2

by 26foxbuck221



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 18:45:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6295594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/26foxbuck221/pseuds/26foxbuck221
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya continues on his journey back to a present self, reaches his mid teens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Littlest U.N.C.L.E Agent Part 2 How Illya Kuryakin Comes of Age Part 2 Chapter 2

The Littlest U.N.C.L.E. Agent

Part 4

Chapter 2

As always, this is for entertainment only. No money is being made by me, this franchise belongs to MGM and Richie. 

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“Thank you, Mr. Solo. I will see to it that he is admitted without hesitation. Waverly out.” He closed the channel immediately opening another. “Ms. Rogers, Mr. Kuryakin may be on his way down. You can admit him without hesitation. Thank you.”

Illya was aware that he was garnering glances but ignored them all. No one was impeding his advance even though every one he met was armed, even the women. But his main concern and focus was retracing the map in his head. At last he approached a familiar corridor with a receptionist's desk just outside a single door. As he approached, the woman, no doubt a secretary, glanced his way and the door she was guarding began to open and he quickened his pace. A flash of perplexity lit her eyes and furrowed her brow. She stood and with a cool glance in her direction he breezed through the portal but immediately slowed as the elderly man from his dream slowly stood, a hand holding a pipe rested on the surface of the round table he was seated at.

Illya's eyes followed the movement of that hand for a a brief moment before returning to the man's face. It had not changed, aged in any way. So in that way, the dream was false. His lips quirked minutely. Of course it was, how could it be anything else? How could he have met this man as a child. It was preposterous. 

“Tovarishch Kuryakin.” Waverly dipped his head with a hint of click of the heel.

Illya rifled through his memory searching for a name. Then he straightened his spine, bowed with a slight click of his own. “Tovarishch Waverly, ser.”

The fact that the room was lit with a natural light was not going unnoticed and the youngster's eyes were being drawn to the windows in the wall to his right. Casting a glance to the man at the table, the Russian did a sharp about face and fairly marched to gaze out the thick but clear glass. 

“This is no city that I know. Am I correct to surmise that I am no longer in Soviet Union?”

“Da, you are correct. This is New York City, America.”

Waverly watched as the Russian digested that information. The eyes dropping even as the chin lifted the left eyebrow arching then dropping as the face closed.

“Why.” It was not stated as a question.

“How much do you remember?”

“Being held in a cell. Being rescued by an Amerkanskaya….”

The door opened and a dark haired man strode into the room. “Mr. Waverly, sir…..”

“This one.”

The accent was heavy but the dry delivery was so familiar. Solo's head snapped to the right taking in the young blond Russian, but not as young as he had been earlier that morning. The brunette's eyes opened wide and his lips formed a startled “O” as he turned towards his boss. 

Waverly gave Solo a warning look and slight shake of his head. “Tovarishch Kuryakin, what else do you remember?”

The blue eyes that turned back to Waverly were cool, but not the Siberian Winter frost that the boy was well known for. There was also something else moving through them. Doubt? Consternation? But it was inwardly directed at the moment.

“You have yet to tell me why I no longer in USSR.”

“You remember the cell, but not the initial kidnapping?”

“Nyet. That I cannot remember at all.”

“I see. You were found here in the US and we thought it more expedient to bring you here. A safe haven for the time being, if you will.”

“You have my mother's Firebird brooch. How did that come to you?”

“It was given to me by Tovarishch Vasili Kronaovitch. You would like to confirm this, I would imagine.”

The blond head slowly dipped. “Da.”

Waverly picked up the receiver of a phone. “Overseas connection direct to Vasili Sergei Kronaovitch, please.”

Silence fell during the few moments it took for the connection to be completed, then the elderly man actually smiled as he glanced at his watch. 

“Dobre den, Tovarishch Vasili Sergei. How are you, old friend.”

“Alexander, drug moy. All is well with you?”

“Very well, Vasili. This is not altogether a courtesy call. I have someone here who needs to speak with you.”

“Tovarishch Kuryakin? How does he fair?”

“Well enough. There has been a development in his situation that you may be of helpful in.”

“Ah, I think I understand. Put him on.”

Waverly held the receiver out and the Russian moved to take it” Tovarishch Kronaovich, cer.”

“Tovarishch Kuryakin. You are being treated well?”

“Da, cer.”

“No doubt you have many questions. The first no doubt, is how you came to be in America.”

“Da, cer. You gave Tovarishch Waverly my mother's brooch.”

“Da, I did. You were taken to America and Tovarishch Waverly and his people needed a way to identify you. I knew your brooch would make such an event very easy for them.”

“Might I then expect an extraction.”

There came a slight pause. “Do you trust me, tovarishch?”

Eyes blinked searching for something to focus on, resting at last on a spot on the huge wall map. A spot very near the heart of Russia.

“Da, I trust you, cer.”

“Then I want you to trust me in what I am about to tell you. It is the truth. It has been decided that it is safer for you to stay with Tovarishch Waverly and his organization for the time being. We know the people who took you. There is no doubt that they will try to take you back.”

“But….excuse me, Tovarishch Kronaovich….I mean no disrespect...but I was supposed to enter my military service soon.”

“Illya Nikolaivich, this is not punishment nor exile. You will return to the USSR. You will serve and with distinction. This I can guarantee. It has been agreed that this is just a small delay. You must not worry. The Amerikanskii are working with us on this.”

The thin shoulders rose and fell in a heavy sigh. “I hear and obey, Tovarishch Kronaovich, cer.”

The man on the other end of the line sighed as well. “All I need for you to do is show Tovarishch Waverly the same respect you show to me. And I have one more request, Illya Nikolaivich, I need you to keep a careful watch on your exuberance for all things explosive. Can you do this for me?”

A small smile relieved the stolid set of the pale face. “Da, I can do this, cer.”

“Good. Now I need to talk to Tovarishch Waverly. Paka, Tovarishch Nikolaivich Kuryakin.”

“Paka, Tovarishch Kronaovich, cer.” It was not lost on the young Russian that his superior had used the informal, friend to friend parting of “paka” and not the formal da svedanya.

“Vasili.”

“Alexander. He is now 15 years of age. I remember the discussion we had about his going into the Navy. So, in his mind, it is 1948.”

“Hold a moment, my friend. My senior agent is here. I will give him the instructions. He will know what to do.”

Waverly made a notation and handed the slip to Napoleon. Solo read the note, resulting in a bit of eye roll but then he did a smart about face and double timed it out the door. Illya watched him go but then he moved to simply stare out the window. 

“I'm back, Vasili.”

“You know him as adult, Alexander. At 15, the war is only six years behind him. He has already been through one university and has a masters. But he has not had the benefit of the discipline of the military. He has the mind of the scientist, the heart of the gypsy, the soul of the Russian and the training of guerrilla warfare and KGB. Oh. And at this age his fear or, more rightly, hatred, of dogs is quite acute. 

Keep him occupied, drug moy. If not, he will find ways to entertain himself and I do mean that in all connotations. He will be amused, but his….how shall I say…..targets…..will grow to know the full measure of annoyance. He has a good measure of humanity, thank what ever gods there might be for that. But you know the dark depression the Russian soul can fall into. Especially now that he must feel cut off so totally from his Mother Land.”

“We will look after for him, Vasili. Just as when you first released him to us.”

“I know that you will. Now, I must let you go. Call me if you have any questions or he needs me. I will be available to you both, regardless of the time of day or night.”

“Spasiba, Vasili. Have a good evening.”

“You as well, Alexander. Dobre nochi.”


End file.
